


An Inspector Calls

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Book: The Valley of Fear, M/M, Protectiveness, Suspicions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3161186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moran is most unimpressed by Moriarty’s continued kindness towards Inspector Alec MacDonald.</p><p>Written for the fic request "Would you be willing to write anything about the only Scotland Yard inspector with whom we know Moriarty came into direct contact, Alec MacDonald? I reread VALL not so long ago and was struck by his friendly relationship with Holmes and Watson, as well as his good impression of Moriarty. Did he read the book Moriarty gave him? What did Moriarty think of him? Why don't we see him again?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Inspector Calls

    It is evening, in that quiet time after dinner when it is rather unusual to receive visitors, when the bell rings. Moran would prefer to ignore it but a look from Moriarty over his paper tells him that is not an option available to him, especially with the maid being laid up with influenza and their housekeeper having shut herself in the kitchen in a foul mood after the professor suggested that her beef was undercooked. Hence Moran has to heave himself off the settee and go and answer the door.

     Moriarty lowers his newspaper slightly again and watches as Moran slinks from the room muttering to himself something along the lines of, “Who the heck comes out in this weather?” only perhaps with rather more obscenity.

     Shortly the colonel returns trailed by a second figure, a big sandy-haired man, dressed smartly but probably not very expensively. “Someone to see you, Professor,” Moran says in a somewhat bland tone of voice which manages to adequately conceal how he feels about this intrusion.

     “I hope I am not interrupting anything, I know it’s getting late.” Inspector Alec MacDonald steps forward, his nose red from the cold. Beneath his shaggy eyebrows his deep-set eyes seem to flick subtly around the room, taking in the décor and furniture. There is nothing in the room of immense value nor is the room, like some he has been inside in other houses, cluttered with tables, plants, ornaments and the like. But it is evidently done tastefully and well and in a manner that is perhaps not especially cheap. “I’ll not stay long, I just wanted to nip in and return this book to you.” Standing before the professor, he removes the item in question – a volume by Richard Christopher Carrington – from where he has had it tucked neatly underneath his arm.

     Moran gravitates back towards the fireplace and stands with his back to the flames. There he is comfortably able to simultaneously warm himself and observe MacDonald. A policeman in the house, it’s not right, even if the fellow is only brandishing one of the professor’s tedious astronomical tomes and not a pair of handcuffs. How dare he come here at this time of the evening, intruding into their private time and rendering it necessary to take him into the sitting room? The professor allowing MacDonald into his study seemed acceptable for that space seems far more formal and there the professor is better able to control things, but here, where they should be able to relax… MacDonald’s arrival has brought a chill into the room, and not only that caused by the cool air outside.

     Of course though the professor will be all kindness and politeness like he was the last time this MacDonald came sniffing around and likely will only find it amusing afterwards, not irksome, that that interfering so-called detective Holmes has got one of Scotland Yard’s rising stars checking up on them. Maybe that’s the worst of this – that the professor doesn’t seem to take these matters as seriously as he should, preferring to view everything as some manner of great game.

      “You found it enjoyable?” Moriarty queries, carefully taking the proffered book.

      “Oh aye, indeed, though…” MacDonald scratches his head slightly. “I must admit that I found one or two parts a bit, well… heavy going, but no doubt about it, astronomy is a fascinating topic indeed.”

      Moriarty, keeping his gaze fixed upon the inspector’s, smiles warmly. “Indeed it is, Mr MacDonald.” He places the book gently down upon the arm of the settee. “Would you care for some refreshment? I have a very fine malt whisky if you’d care for a dram, or if Colonel Moran over there is feeling especially bold tonight he might be persuaded to venture down to the kitchen and see if our presently somewhat irate housekeeper is amenable to making a pot of tea.”

     “Oh no,” MacDonald says, “that won’t be necessary, thank you, nor the whisky, as tempting as a wee dram sounds; I was not intending to stay.”

     “That is a great shame,” Moriarty says, and notices Moran’s silent snort of derision. “I had hoped we might discuss the book further. Perhaps though I might at least lend you another book on the topic?”

      Moran glares at Moriarty, silently demanding to know just why precisely the professor wishes to give this busybody any further reason to return to their house, particularly when he can sense a change in MacDonald’s demeanour. It is subtle, but it is there: previously he was merely curious; now he is suspicious. No doubt bloody Holmes has put some particular notion in the inspector’s head.

     “Oh, no, I canna put you to any more trouble,” MacDonald answers, but Moran can sense that this is said largely for appearances’ sake.

     “It will be no trouble, I assure you; if you will accompany me to my study I will pick something suitable for you.” The professor takes the Carrington book in one hand and with the other gestures to MacDonald, beckoning him closer before guiding him out of the sitting room with his hand against the inspector’s back. Before he leaves the room though he glances at Moran over MacDonald’s shoulder. _Stay there_ , that look says.

     Moran does as he is bid and remains by the fire, warming his hands whilst grumbling to himself.

 

     Moriarty and MacDonald are gone for a few minutes and when they return Moran can hear them laughing together, although their mirth seems to fade away once they return to the sitting room. MacDonald now has a different book tucked under his arm, Moran notes.

     “Well, Mr MacDonald, you read that and see what you make of it,” Moriarty says, still resting his hand upon MacDonald’s shoulder. “And do not feel it is necessary to rush through it so you may return it promptly; take as long as you need over it. Such works should be properly savoured, just like fine wines.”

      “Oh aye, well, it’s very kind of you to go to all this effort, Professor,” MacDonald says.

     “No effort at all.” Moriarty pats him lightly on the back once more in a manner that strikes Moran as rather overly familiar. “It is most pleasant to have an appreciative audience for once – someone who seems to truly take an interest in astronomy, unlike certain other people of my acquaintance.” He darts a meaningful glance at Moran, who sneers at him.

     “Some of us, Professor, have better things to do than spend all our time with our noses buried in books.”

     MacDonald shifts slightly on the spot, perhaps becoming uncomfortably aware of the slight tension between the pair. “Well,” he says, smiling as he looks at the colonel, “all of us are good at different things.”

     “That we are.” Moran turns sharply and jabs at the coal with the poker, stirring up the embers furiously.

     “Well,” MacDonald says again. “I suppose I really must be going on my way.”

     “Of course, of course; I’ll show you out.” Seemingly Moriarty is unwilling to entrust the task of escorting MacDonald to the door to Moran. “And remember, if there is anything in the book you would like clarification on, or would simply like to discuss, you may call upon me at any time.”

       Moran curses loudly, then looks round sheepishly when he realises Moriarty and MacDonald have both turned to stare at him. “Sorry.” He gestures with the poker into the fireplace. “Bit of coal just exploded.”

     “Ah.” MacDonald nods sagely. “Well, it was very nice to see you again, Colonel; goodbye then.”

     “Goodbye.” Moran turns back to continue jabbing irritably at the coal so that he does not have to see Moriarty directing the inspector out with a kindly hand upon his shoulder once more.

 

      When the professor returns from seeing MacDonald out, Moran is sprawled upon the settee, smoking.

      “Why’d you encourage him?” he asks at once.

       Moriarty eyes the smouldering end of Moran’s cigarette briefly before directing his attention towards the colonel’s face. “Know your enemy, Sebastian.”

     Moran laughs bitterly. “What, by being all chummy with him? Lending him books like he’s one of your bloody students? You’ll be inviting him round for tea and cucumber sandwiches next.” He takes a long drag on his cigarette before deliberately blowing out a large cloud of smoke.

     Moriarty wafts this aside as he advances towards Moran. “He may prove to be useful to me, or he may prove to be a thorn in my side. At this current time though I see no problem with encouraging his interest in astronomy.”

     “He suspects something.”

     “What good are his suspicions without evidence, hmm?” Moriarty sits down beside Moran. He reaches across the short distance between them and takes Moran’s free hand in his, drawing it over so that their hands rest together in his lap. “You worry too much, pet.”

      Moran glances sideways at him. “Maybe cos you don’t worry enough – you’re too busy toying with people for your own amusement. Well what if some day one of those you’ve been toying with turns around and bites you in the arse?”

     “A quaint way of phrasing it.” The professor smiles. “So what would you have me do, precisely? Murder everyone who looks at me in a certain way?”

     “Of course not, but you don’t have to go inviting them round to discuss your pet theories and lend them bloody books.”

     “As I recall…” Moriarty says idly, the faintest sly smile playing over his features, “you were the one consorting with a police officer in a far more dangerous way.”

     Moran narrows his eyes at this matter being brought up. Moriarty is usually good about such things, about not dredging up Moran’s past relationships, some of which were far riskier than others. Still he has never truly used Moran’s history against him, as a means to genuinely undermine him or question his faithfulness, but this statement now makes Moran withdraw his hand sharply. “That weren’t remotely the same.”

     “Was it not?” Moriarty queries pleasantly.

     “No, because Toby had as much to lose- no, _even more_ than I had to lose if he’d turned on me. Besides, he weren’t sniffing around me like some dog after a bitch in heat.”

     This statement causes Moriarty to laugh. “Strange, I had assumed that was almost exactly what he was doing.”

      “Yeah, well, all right.” Moran grins, momentarily forgetting his displeasure. “But you know what I mean, he was just after a good time, not sticking his nose into my business because he thought I was up to something. Mark my words, Professor: MacDonald’s had Holmes whispering in his ear about you – about _us_ , even. He suspects too much.”

      “But he _knows_ nothing.” Moriarty catches Moran’s hand again and draws it to his lips so that he may gently kiss his knuckles. “Stop fretting, my boy. If Mr. MacDonald proves to be too much of a nuisance then I have no doubt that you can take care of him for me. In the meantime, allow me to have my fun, yes?”

     Moran grimaces, but the professor’s reasonable tone always manages to wear his reluctance down more thoroughly than if Moriarty were simply to shout at him. “Yes sir,” he says, still making a discontented face as he says this. “I’m still allowed to worry about you though,” he adds after a few seconds as he turns over, sliding himself onto the professor’s lap, deftly managing to keep his cigarette at arm’s length to avoid dripping ash upon Moriarty as he shifts position.

     “Of course, my dearest Moran,” Moriarty murmurs softly, half-closing his eyes briefly. “I would expect nothing less from you.” He opens his eyes wide again and looks up into Moran’s eyes which, like the inspector’s, are somewhat deep-set and further shadowed by his eyebrows. Even so they glitter brightly as Moran meets his gaze. Moriarty draws his hands up to rest against his lover’s hips and though his actions, even his overall demeanour and tone of voice, continue to convey his great affection towards Moran, a coldness – even a pitilessness directed towards another – infuses his blue-grey eyes as he speaks next. “Now, he says, “about this _Fred Porlock_ …”


End file.
